


Supernatural: Indecently Odd

by SingingFlames



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cas trying to use technology, Gen, Humor, No pairings - Freeform, prank
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-02
Updated: 2016-05-15
Packaged: 2018-06-06 01:30:28
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,319
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6732328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SingingFlames/pseuds/SingingFlames
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Castiel makes an unusual discovery while perusing the internet. No pairings (well...). No OCs.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Supernatural: Indecently Odd  
> Timeframe: Post S10 E5 ("Fan Fiction")  
> Pairings: None  
> Rating: PG  
> Warnings: Mild Language  
> Author's Note: This is inspired by, and the characters' attitudes are taken from, the episode "Fan Fiction".

Dean contemplated the double-stacked bacon cheeseburger – extra bacon, pickles, ketchup and mustard, thank you very much – with the same reverence others reserved for their beloved. He breathed in the savory aroma of perfectly sizzled beef and fried hickory heaven. Using both hands, he grasped the masterpiece and brought it to his mouth. He closed his eyes.

Sam cleared his throat.

Dean sighed. "Don't ruin the moment, dude."

"Um, Dean?" Sam's voice was quiet.

"Dammit."

Dean glared at his brother. Sam turned a concerned glance to him, then tilted his head in a brief nod at the only other occupant in the bunker. Scowling, Dean glanced down to the end of the library's table, where Castiel sat. The angel stared, eyebrows furrowed, at the laptop before him.

"Cas?" Dean called out to him. "Are you … using the computer?"

"Yes," came the gravelly reply.

The brothers exchanged looks. Sam shrugged and raised his eyebrows. Dean grunted a soft noise of disbelief. They watched the angel stare at the laptop, the screen's glow reflecting against his features.

After several moments of silence, Dean said, "So, whatcha doing?"

Castiel blinked. "What? Oh, this." He leaned back. "I heard of something that I thought might be another angel, one I'd never heard of before. But when I," he raised his hands, his index and middle fingers forming quotation marks in the air, "'search' on this device, I keep finding unusual results."

"No angel?" Sam asked.

"Well, yes, there is. There are pictures of an angel, but always with a man." Castiel opened his mouth, paused, closed it, then tried again. "Many of the images are … indecent." He shared an uncomfortable look with the brothers. "Needless to say, those were not helpful. I decided to read about it on this," he gestured to the laptop, "contraption instead."

"So," Dean said, eyebrows raised, "any luck?"

"Yes and no. There is plenty of written material here but it's odd."

"Indecently odd?" Dean smirked as he grabbed his beer.

"Among other things." Castiel paused, lips tight in confusion. "The writings are stories, for the most part. But the characters," he looked up at the other two, "are named Dean and Castiel."

Dean choked on the beer. "What?"

"Sam is even mentioned, in a few."

Sam sat up straighter.

"The writing style is similar to that of Chuck's, and his Supernatural books, but each story is decidedly different. Particularly the subject matter."

"What the hell did you look up?" Dean asked, wiping beer from his chin.

"Someone – or something – called Destiel."

Dean choked again.

Sam let out a bark of laughter. At Dean's glare, he covered his mouth and abruptly started coughing.

"What is it?" Castiel asked, ignoring their exchange. "It's not any of Chuck's work, and with the line of prophets severed, it's not another prophet's work either. And yet, it depicts us."

"It's fan fiction, Cas." Sam explained. At the angel's blank look, he continued, "Fans write their own stories about the books. Sometimes they, uh," Sam rubbed a hand over his mouth, "write certain characters together in romantic relationships. They smash the names together when they do that. So, Destiel is, well, you and …" He looked at his brother and shrugged.

"Shut up, Sammy."

"Sorry, dude, he asked."

"These are unofficial continuations of Chuck's books?" A look of confusion crossed Castiel's features. "It doesn't make sense. Take this one." He pointed at the screen. "Why would I want Dean to thrust his–"

Dean's inarticulate outburst interrupted Castiel. He lunged forward and slammed the laptop shut. Ignoring Sam's protests over the computer's rough treatment, he said, "I swear, Cas, you finish that sentence and I'll rip my own ears off."

"That would be quite painful."

"Not as bad as listening to what you were saying," he countered. Dean pulled the laptop away from the angel and wrapped his arms around it. "Reading that didn't bother you?"

"Why would it?" Castiel blinked, his eyes shifting between the elder Winchester and the computer. "By your own statement, it is fiction. It is not neither history nor prophecy. Therefor, it has no relevance for me. The examples I read had various degrees of decency, some – several, in fact – bordering on none, but it does not affect me."

"Well, fine, good for you. Just never share any of them with us." Dean shook his head. "In fact, never mention them again. Ever." He picked up his burger, then let it fall. "Dammit. I've lost my appetite."

"Cas," Sam said, corners of his mouth twitching, "where did you even hear of Destiel?"

"Crowley." The angel shrugged. "He stated that I might want to look into it. In hindsight, he may have had an ulterior motive for mentioning it." He shot an apologetic look at Dean.

"I'll kill him."

"I'm good for killing Crowley whenever, Dean," Sam said, "but, really, what's the harm? It's kinda funny, in a way. They're just some stories. They're not important, right?"

Dean locked eyes with his brother. After several terse moments, Dean smiled and leaned back, waving a hand in a dismissive gesture. "Oh, sure. Just some stories. Right." He opened the laptop, hiding a quick grimace as he closed Castiel's search results. He tapped some keys. "Hey, here's an idea. Let's look up some more stories."

"Seriously, dude?"

"Dean, given your reaction to my efforts, it seems unlikely you'll appreciate anything else the computer has to offer."

"It'll be fine." Dean pursed his lips, fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Let's pick a few random names. First, let's see," he glanced at the ceiling, tapping his chin, "Sam …"

"Excuse me?" Sam sat up straight.

"And, hmm, who else? Oh, how about, Crowley?" Dean began tapping the keyboard in earnest.

"Dean! What the hell?"

Castiel tilted his head. "That seems far less likely to occur than the romantic encounters between you and I– "

"Cas!" Dean glared at the confused angel. "Please! Never again, remember?"

"My apologies."

"Keep doing that, and I'm going to bleach my brain." Dean shook his head. Turning his attention back to the screen, he cracked his knuckles. "Back to business. What would that be under? Sowley?"

"Dude, no!" Sam leaned over the table, reaching out for the laptop.

"What?" Dean leaned back, pulling the computer from Sam's reach. "They're 'kinda funny' and 'just some stories', right?"

"Dean, stop."

"Cam? Oh, I got it. Cram. As in, 'Cram' it up your ass, Sammy."


	2. Pastry Abuse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Castiel confronts Crowley.

“We've gone over this, Castiel,” Crowley said, staring down at the summoning ritual. He kicked a small puff of dirt at the smoldering remains. “It's called a phone. Use it.”

“Had I done so, you could have ignored it,” Castiel replied, glaring at the demon.

“Me? Never!” Crowley held a hand up to his chest, affecting shock. Dropping his hand, he raised his eyebrows at the angel, the corners of his mouth curving in a slight smile. “You'll never know if you don't try.”

Tightening his lips, Castiel looked aside. “I still do not have you in my contact list.”

Crowley rocked back and forth on his heels. “You don't know how to add a contact, do you?”

“It is hardly important.”

“If it keeps you from summoning at all times, day and night, then I bloody well call that important, don't you?”

“I have rarely summoned you–”

“Rarely is still too much, darling.” Crowley grimaced and held out his hand. “Give me your phone.”

“Crowley,” the angel growled, “this is not what I wanted to discuss.” 

“Then, give me the phone already, mate, and we can have ourselves a nice little chit chat.”

Castiel glared at the demon's outstretched hand for a moment longer. Crowley raised his eyebrows, waiting. With a sigh, Castiel dug into his pockets. He pulled the simple device out – a phone the Winchesters referred to as a “burner” – and, after a final glance, handed it over.

The demon rolled his eyes. He swiped the screen and 'tutted' under his breath. “Really, Cas? You haven't even changed your background. Don't you know anything about this thing?”

“I … have difficulties with technology,” the angel admitted.

“You, my fine feathered friend, are a technical difficulty.” Ignoring the angel's glare, Crowley fiddled with the other's phone.

Castiel tightened his lips. “If you are completely satisfied now, can we please discuss why I summoned you?”

“The sooner, the better.” The demon continued tapping.

“You purposely introduced me to a subject that Dean and Sam found uncomfortable.”

“Pardon?”

“The,” Castiel paused, mouth open for a moment before he plunged ahead, “Destiel subject matter you proposed I look into.”

“Ah, yes, that. Intriguing stuff, yes?” The demon smirked, still fiddling with the phone.

“You knew that Dean and Sam would not enjoy that. You set me up to make them uncomfortable.”

“I'd never! Besides, how would I know that Moose and Squirrel would be there when you went perusing the web?” Crowley waved a hand in a dismissive gesture.

Castiel glared at the demon, eyes narrowed, as Crowley continued tapping on the small screen. Castiel's jaw tightened. “Given my limitations in regard to computers, it is logical to assume that I might require help. And given that–”

“Fine, fine. Whatever. So, did you like it?” The demon glanced up, one side of his mouth curled up.

“Why would you ask …? It was not real, nor indicative of reality, so why would I find enjoyment from it? It is fiction.”

“It's fantasy. And that can be enjoyable, if you have the mind to let it.” Crowley looked at Castiel, his gaze traveling from the angel's feet to his head. “Or any sort of imagination to speak of.” He returned his attention to the phone. “Pictures or stories?”

“I beg your pardon?” This conversation was not proceeding as Castiel had intended.

“When you looked up Destiel, did you look up pictures or stories?”

“The original search revealed images, but I did not understand their purpose. So I changed my parameters to written works.”

“Did you see the foursome with the pie?” Crowley smirked.

The angel cocked his head, eyebrows furrowed. “I don't understand what that means.”

“Oh,” the demon chuckled, “it's not something I can explain. It really must be seen, to be fully appreciated. Here.” He opened the phone's browser and typed in several search terms. 

“That's not necessary.”

“It really is.” He swiped the screen upwards a few times. “Ah, here we go!” Crowley stepped closer and angled the phone towards Castiel. The angel made no move to look at the screen. Crowley wiggled it, eyebrows raised and smirking. “You know you want to.”

“I highly doubt that. If I remember correctly, you stated something similar when you approached me about Destiel originally.”

“I said you might want to see it. Might. You're the one who chose to act on that without any further information. Besides, this,” Crowley pointed at the screen, “is the creation of your father's creations. One might say it's his grand-creation. Shouldn't you take a gander for that reason alone, if nothing else?”

“By that logic, I would spend the rest of time hunting down every single scribble and stack of rocks humanity has, and will, ever create, regardless of any actual artistic, structural or practical merits it might have.” Castiel eyes flicked down to the phone. “While such an effort is not pointless, it is hardly … what am I looking at?”

With a wicked grin, the demon pointed out figures on the screen. “That is Dean. That's Sam. Notice the antlers? And, that one there, is you.” His finger circled around the entire image. “Of course, let's not forget the fourth 'member' of your group: the pies.”

“That's … not appropriate use of pies.” Castiel cocked his head. “Why are we abusing the pastries in such a manner?”

“You tell me, mate. You're doing it.” Crowley shrugged with a smirk.

“I am not …! That is an illustration of the Winchesters and myself, not us actually performing those acts.” He took a step toward the infuriating demon, but reigned himself in. Castiel contemplated Crowley: his raised brows, his eager grin. The angel narrowed his eyes. “You're enjoying this. You purposely wish to aggravate me. That's why you told me about Destiel.”

“I did it for your own good, yeah?” Crowley pulled the phone back and resumed fiddling with it. “Haven't you heard that tripe, that knowledge is power? You – and Moose and Squirrel – have a fan base. A rather rabid one, I might add. Oh, sure, they may think you lot are rubbish, but it won't take much to nudge them into seeing the truth. You boys are quite real and within their reach, if they know where to grab.” He glanced up and caught Castiel's gaze. “I know vice and obsession – it's my livelihood, you might say – and you aught to know what these people think, and dream, about you before they do start after you. You almost lost Sam to one, if you'll remember.”

“Because one of your demons offered her a deal.”

“Hello? Demon? It's what we do. And it was an exceptionally rare and once-in-an-millennium deal. Who gets twenty-five years? No one!” Crowley held his arms wide. Seeing the angel's narrowed eyes, he shrugged it off. “Regardless, she passed on it. You kept Sam. Life goes on. But what about the next one?”

“Your demons would knowingly entrap Sam or Dean or myself? I would not recommend that course.”

“Please. Do you have any idea the number of love charms and knickknacks my blokes go through in a year? As if we'd even notice if one targeted you lot. And,” he held up a finger, “after the number of times you prats have tried to kill me, I really don't care if one does. If I even noticed, I'd nab me some Craig, maybe a few scones, sit back and enjoy the show!” His voice, normally level and melodic, rose in a flash of fury. The demon jabbed at the phone's buttons.

Typical. Castiel crossed his arms. How many conversations with Crowley devolved into sudden outbursts? Not as many as when they first met, granted, but a demon is a demon, after all. He allowed several seconds to pass – and, perhaps, Crowley's anger to fade – before saying, “If you don't care, why share this information?”

Eyes still fixed on his task, Crowley smirked. “I never denied that I enjoyed seeing you aggravated.”

Suddenly tired of it all, Castiel sighed. Conversations with demons – well, with this one, certainly – were frustrating, to say the least. And, apparently, caused Crowley no small amount of enjoyment when he attempted them. Not precisely his intentions. Ready to end this, his gaze fell to his phone, still in the demon's grasp.

“How long does it take to add a contact?”

“It's quite complicated,” Crowley assured him. “Could take another thirty, maybe forty, minutes.”

“I see.” 

Crowley glanced up. “Honestly, I thought a gullible angel would be more fun. This is a bit disappointing, actually.”

“... I beg your pardon?”

“Cas, pet, you know who – what – I am, yes?” At the angel's nod, he continued, “Then, why would you ever believe me?”

“You are lying to me?”

“There we go! I knew you could do it, if you tried.” Crowley beamed.

Castiel eyed the small device. “What are you doing to my phone?”

“Not much. Just livening it up a bit. Giving it some personality. Really, it was quite boring before.”

“That doesn't sound like a good idea. I don't believe I would enjoy any personality you might provide my phone.” The angel stretched his hand out, taking a step towards the device. “I would like it back now.”

“See? This is much more fun.” Crowley turned his shoulder, blocking Castiel's reach. “Just a moment. Almost done.”

“Crowley …”

“And, there! All done.” The demon powered the phone off, then offered it to Castiel. The angel stared at it as if it might grow fangs and strike at him. Crowley waved it at him. “Come, now. Take it.”

“What did you do?”

“It's harmless,” Crowley said with a smile, still holding the phone out. “Fine. Look, I promise, alright? Nothing I did to your phone will cause harm to befall you or anyone you associate with, blah, blah, blah. I keep my word. You know that. Any changes I made are purely aesthetic.”

Castiel glared at the demon. Perhaps he should just get another phone and not risk whatever tampering Crowley had done. That would mean, however, having Dean reprogram his (admittedly short) contact list into the new phone, informing those same contacts of his new number, and would also raise questions about what had happened to this one. Dean and Sam repeatedly assured him that his skills at deception were less than adequate and he didn't feel like divulging this particular episode to them. 

Really, though, what could Crowley have done to it?

Castiel took his phone back and turned it end over end, ensuring that it appeared intact, all the while ignoring Crowley's smirk. He paused a moment, eyeing the blank screen. Tightening his lips, he pressed the power button and unlocked the screen.

An all too familiar illustration – depicting himself, Sam (with moose antlers), Dean and numerous pies in a horrific display of indecency – greeted him.

Castiel's mouth dropped open. He jabbed and poked at it, trying to hide the offensive image. The illustration was affixed behind his icons and refused to move or change in any way, despite his efforts at swiping and tapping it.

“Crowley! Remove this! I don't …”

The demon was gone.

Decorum and patience were life's blood to angels. Fierce as they may be in war, they never lost their discipline, every move calculated for maximum effectiveness, in complete control. There were times, however, that Castiel envied Dean his ability to verbally (and often, quite loudly) express his frustration. A vocal catharsis would be welcome now. Instead, he clenched his jaw and glared at the spent summoning ritual, the only visual sign of Crowley's recent presence.

He did allow himself the small satisfaction of kicking the bowl over.

What to do about the phone? The picture did not respond to any of his efforts, remaining affixed to the background. (The shared information he had received from Metatron provided the term 'wallpaper', although Castiel could not fathom how this applied to an electronic device. There were no walls and certainly no paper present. Unfortunately, that shared knowledge did not impart a means to change the image.) He tapped through a few buttons, but the options listed did not seem promising.

The phone vibrated, Dean's name and number appearing. At the same moment, noise blared forth from the device, in a regular beat that the angel assumed humans meant to be musical. A man's voice shouted out harsh lyrics. Castiel shook his head. 

“I do not care what size butts you like, or whether or not you are lying about it.”

Could a caller hear music, when used in this fashion? Castiel jabbed the answer button.

“Dean, did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“You didn't hear music just now?”

“What's going on, Cas?”

“Nothing. Everything's fine.”

Silence.

Castiel coughed. “Dean, was there something I can do for you?”

“What music, Cas?”

The angel sighed. “Crowley got onto my phone and, when you called, it played a questionable song.”

“Huh.” Dean was silent for several moments. “What song?”

That song – or, more likely, its subject matter – was Crowley's idea of a joke. Castiel wasn't eager to see Dean's reaction to it. “I am unfamiliar with it.” Not a lie.

“Fine. Swing by the bunker and we can fix it. And don't leave your phone where just anybody can get to it. Common sense, man.”

“That was hardly my intention. And that is not necessary. My phone is fine.”

“I'm okay with looking at it.”

Castiel paused, remembering the illustrated pie abuse currently set as his wallpaper. “No, I don't think you are.”


End file.
